


don't listen to your friends (see the despair behind their eyes)

by chemicalpixie



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: AI Chiaki, F/M, Me: Well you see the answer is right over there, Me: runs away, You: How does AI Chiaki have real Chiaki's memories?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemicalpixie/pseuds/chemicalpixie
Summary: “she was going to confront junko, find out what she was doing to class 77-B, find out why she was hurting chiaki's friends. she'd made up her mind. she was going to confront junko enoshima.”or; chiaki nanami's life, death, and resurrection.





	don't listen to your friends (see the despair behind their eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> this is not going in the series because chiaki is not technically ever a remnant of despair at all, though i maintain that remnant!chiaki would have been terrifying as fuck. also, as much as i wanted to do the paired fics so that they complete each other's and don't have scenes that overlap, chiaki's death was too important in this fic and in izuru's fic to do that. oh well.

chiaki nanami was a normal girl. her parents worked, and she kept mostly to herself, lingering in seats in the backs of classrooms, playing games. games were her comfort, her escape, her companions. they were the only ones she could talk to.

//

at fifteen, she got accepted into hope's peak high school for playing games, and life wasn't really any different. she was quiet, shy, the chiaki she'd always been. and still, they made an effort to include her. she taught them how to play games (and she won every time) and they included her and they even elected her as the class representative for student council. for the first time in her life, chiaki felt like she had friends. for the first time, she didn't feel quite so _alone_.

//

and while she knew the school had a reserve course, she didn't quite give them any thought until she met a member of the reserve course. she met him first after school, as she was waiting for the rest of the student council. they were supposed to go to a cafe to discuss the school trip for the seniors, but they were late, and a boy she'd never seen before ended up sitting beside her as she sat at the fountain. he had sandy brown hair and cool brown eyes, and somehow she still thought he was the most beautiful person she'd ever seen.

“hello,” she said, pausing her game. he smiled at her.

“hi,” he said, quietly. she couldn't imagine him being loud. every bit of his being seemed to be careful, like he was put together carefully by some higher power. like a player in a game had thoughtfully chosen every part of him. “i'm hinata hajime.”

“what's your talent?” chiaki asked, putting her game down and nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

he blushed. “oh, um. i'm in the reserve course.”

she blinked, flushing. “oh, i'm sorry,” she said. “i didn't mean to - ”

he cut her off. “it's fine,” he said, smiling warmly. “what's your talent?”

“i'm chiaki nanami, class representative for class 77-B. i'm the super high school level gamer.”

hinata's eyes lit up. “that's so cool! i used to play video games, but i was never very good.” he trailed off, shrugging.

“we should play together some time,” chiaki said, voice warm, and hinata nodded. he started to speak, but was cut off.

“i found you,” someone said from behind chiaki, and she turned to see karen kisaragi, the super high school level secretary, standing behind her. “we've got to get to the meeting,” she said, grabbing chiaki's elbow lightly and guiding her away.

“it was nice to meet you, hinata,” chiaki said apologetically to hinata, who smiled almost sadly, hauntingly, in response.

“it was nice to meet you too, chiaki.”

//

she saw hinata a lot, after that. they met for coffee after school, and he walked her from her dorm to council meetings on nights they had late meetings, and he sometimes snuck out of class to eat lunch with her and the rest of her class. one night, by the fountain when they'd met, as the sun set, she had made up her mind. she was going to kiss him. and just as she leaned in, hinata pulled away.

“chiaki,” he whispered, and she opened her eyes. “i can't.”

“why not?” she asked, voice low and almost pouting. she didn't understand.

“because i'm not like you. i'm not _talented_.”

“that doesn't matter,” she whispered, voice low and biting.

he looked at her sadly, like atlas when he had let the world fall. he stroked her cheek carefully, and she leaned in. “but it does,” he whispered, and she pulled back. she stood up.

“i'm sorry, hinata,” she said, walking away. she wanted to look back (to look back at him, to see his sad haunting smile she knew was there, to see him again because she might have been only seventeen, but _damn_ , she thought she might love him) but she didn't. she didn't look back.

//

and she began to notice things, after that. she began to notice the lipstick stains on mikan's neck that were smeared in a way that showed she'd tried to wipe they away, but hadn't quite managed, and the thick smell of bile that surrounded mahiru, and sonia's voice, hoarser and lower every time she spoke, and the blood smeared on fuyuhiko's wrists, only visible when he moved in just the right way, sleeves sliding up to reveal just a hint of blood. she knew that they were drifting, that something (that _someone_ ) was taking them from her, from each other, and she didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to save them. she wanted to (oh, _god_ , how she wished she could save them) but she just didn't know how.

//

she hadn't seen hinata, after that day at the fountain. at first, she thought that he was simply avoiding her, but after a while, she learned he hadn't been to class at all. she tried texts, and calls, and he never responded. after a while, she found herself listening to his voicemail just to hear his voice. and that's when she realized (that she _knew_ ) he had to be gone.

//

she figured out who it had to be, after that. she knew. she'd seen mikan kissing a girl with hair pulled tight in twintails, seen the same girl's lipstick smeared on sonia's collarbone, seen mahiru crying in her arms and seen teruteru holding close one of the girl’s rings. she'd seen the same girl wandering around campus with sayaka maizono, and knew she had to part of class 78. she asked around, careful to not arouse any suspicion. chiaki finally found she was super high school level gyaru, junko enoshima. and nanami knew what she was going to do. she was going to confront junko, find out what she was doing to class 77-B, find out why she was hurting chiaki's friends. she'd made up her mind. she was going to confront junko enoshima.

//

and one night, she found a note on her bed that instructed her to come to the student council room for a meeting at eleven pm, and she laughed, almost. why had someone (karen, probably) gone to all the trouble of writing everyone individual notes and leaving them in their rooms when they could've just sent a group message. it was so like karen, she thought, to do this. and she went to the room (the walk was cold, and she pulled her sweater tight around her, missing the times hinata would walk her to meetings, putting his jacket around her shoulders when she got cold), and found everyone else already there, and everything went _black_. when she awoke, she found she’d been sitting asleep in a desk. the other student council members were rubbing their eyes. those already fully awake hovered in fear around their desks, having stood up already. lurking in the background was manderi, who stood next to another man with long dark hair she didn't recognize.

there was a note left on one the teacher’s desk that read, “kill each other or you will all die.” chiaki's head swam. this couldn't be true. it couldn't. it _couldn't_. there were weapons on every desk, as though someone had laid one out for each of them. chiaki’s desk had a knife, long and sharp. it looked almost like a butcher knife, and chiaki didn’t dare to touch it. karen stood near a desk with a chainsaw, and on other desks, there was a cleaver, a curved knife, a metal hammer that looked almost like what one would use for meat pulverising, and a pair of comically oversized sharp scissors. there was even what almost looked like a spear leaning against another desk. and then, it had started. she didn’t know who had started the killing, who fell first and whose body was splayed across the floor first. but chiaki stayed, careful, hiding within the shadows, watching them kill each other. the blood splattered across the floor (she couldn’t believe this was happening. that her fellow student council members would do this. that they would _kill_ each other), and fear spiked in her heart. it was almost like a fighting game, but worse, because none of the twisted corpses left on the ground sprung up, light glowing behind them as they respawned. she couldn’t watch anymore. she pulled out a video game. she didn't want to see what was happening before her. she didn't want to watch. she didn't want to see them kill each other. and then the man with the dark hair turned to her, eyes almost glowing red in the dark light. he looked at her, and chiaki dropped her game, clattering on the ground. she thought he almost looked bored. he took her head in her hands, and there was something almost familiar about the way his hands felt, his touch on her face. and then he pulled his left hand away, grabbing a knife, and chiaki began to shake, fear curling in her heart and up her throat. she tried to move away, but his left hand was tight on her face and neck. his thumb rested on her cheek and the rest of his fingers were tight around the left side of her neck. she couldn't move. she felt the slow, aching pain of the knife as he dragged it across her neck, and she felt the warm blood spill out onto her shirt. she looked into his eyes, wanting to know _why_ , and, suddenly she _knew_. she knew what had happened to hinata. this was what they'd made hinata into this was what he'd become this was what he'd become and he was _killing_ her he was killing he was killing _what had they made him into what had they made him into what had they made him into what had they done what had they done what had they done to him_ -

//

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͖̩̫̥͎̟0̪̩̳1̤͚͕͍̤̕1̷̯̬̦̫͇̜0͍̪̞̘0̞̟̗̲̯1̙͖̘̼̫͘0̭̰1 ҉͍̯̼̗0̞̭͜11͇͈͎̺͕̣0͕͚̯̞1̫͚̯̯̕1͖0̸̹1̯̩͍͜ ͞0̟̖̯͉̰͇̳͢0͏̲1͙̗͚͔0͏̼̜̣͍͖̥̳00͍͍͟0̼̲̣̻̞0̡ ͎̫0͔̠̥̠̞̯͡1҉̬̜̙̭̯̳͙1͖͙͙͚͔͈0̖1̮̭̕0҉̫̤0̸̳̹̜̞̭͉̖1͍͚̬̟̠ ̠̳̮̯0̦1̤͔1͖̭̬̻1̛0̴̝͚̬͕̮̳1̶͈̤̝͈̺̗̼0̡̙̘̖͕0̦ ͔͕̰̠͍0̦̮0̢̤̠̠̙̺1̵̭̺͙̝̲̖͖00̥̦̪̺0͏̮͇̮̣͇̞̟0̥̱͉̰̝̜̘0̘̼̤͝ ̱0̠̪1̨̙̝̺1̪̙̩͇͙̙̪1̞̭0̡̲1̳͎͕̭̲͠ͅ1̴̹̬̩1҉ ̺0͈̙̦1̤͎͎ͅ1͕͕̥0͙͕͖͟0̶̟0͇̦̩͇͔͟0̲͈͘1͉̙̫̥̮̺ ̘̣̣͓̗͚0͖̲1̢1̶͔̠̥͇͓̞̩1͖̭͍͈͓0̩͖0̟̬̙̻͚ͅ1̵̦̼̻͈̙͉͙1̴̦ ͓0̙̳0̺̱͇ͅ1̵̖͈̻͍0̗̻͖̙͙̤͜0̪̟͔͚0̱̗0̨̼0̘̪̼̣͕̫ ̴̯̻͖͚0͈̗̗̤1̤͕̻̼1̯͈̕0͓1̻̗̪̪0҉̮͙̩̪̩͍͈0̷0͖̟̩͔̲ ̻͈͉̼͜ͅ0̥͖͙̙̭̳̣͢1̢1̛0͈͈̳͔̤̗ͅ0̲̼͉̟̰̠͍1̞͉̱̙͔͠0̦̭̗̯̗1̢̱̞ ͎̞̘͇̹̬0̷̘͈̲͇̦̯ͅ1҉̯̯̫̝̳̣1̵͕̹1͓0͍͙̘͙̻̼͝ͅ0̼̭1ͅ0̩͚͔͕ ҉̬̦̜̭0̦0̡1̤̗0̻͇0̤͖͓̩̕0̞̱̙͟0̺0҉̮̥͉̙ ̗̦̼̱̬̖̠0̬̫̦̺̮͖ͅ1̭͝1̼̻̬̱̟̯͍͢0̷͓̝̘̗̮0̘͖̻1̜̩̜͓̳̦̲10̮͙̟̬͘ ͈̜0̴͇͓̳1̡͇͔̣̯͇̰̜1ͅ0̧̟0̷0̵͕͈0̷̦͚1͇̻͔̫̯̜͢ ̗̟̮͓͎̦͈0̧̣͇1̻̤͕̗̮̯̫͢11̴͖̼̜̼̣͈̗0̯ͅ1̳͕0̬̖͙̝̰̰̱1͖̼̜̳͇ͅ ͞01̣̟͕1̗̘̼̻͘0͝1͏͈͇̭̤1͏̺̲͎̲̬0̻0̧ ̭͖̱͎̱͓͇0͔1̟̯̥̠͇͎1̯̮̱̣̹10̦̳̺͔̮̟1̸̼̥͙̜͉̟̩0̷0̱̖̤͍̼̙̝̕ ̠̝̤̳̪̙00͙͕̭̦̲͕1̜͎̖̹̖͡0̴̻̦͇͓͙00̬̮̱͙0̩̰0̞̣͕̩̗̕ ̞͍̙̯̘̪̭0̺̩1̖̮͡1̼͎̠0̪̺͓̻͝1͖̤̮͖̘̯0͡0̞1͍͕̙̯͙͕̫͝ ͈0̙͇͙̺1̸͇͍̯̪1̜̠1̨̺͕͓͓̯0̷͕̜̤͎͈̬1͓͉͙̙̗0͓̞̘̘͢0̫̗͈ ̜̥̫͓͈̦̺0̠͈0̣̩̥͢ͅͅ1̱̩͕̪̪͓͝0̹͙̩̺̫͢0̗0̮̬̫̼͓͖̫00̖̩̼ͅ ̭̦̹0̗̞̠̻̰̩̖1҉̝͔1̹̜͝1̶0̠͓̪̝͇̫1̺͝1̬̖̲̖1̘̥̞ ̘͜0̣̟͔̮̹͉͕110̪͡0̮̳͟0͕̺̬0̗͉̲̲1̞̝̲͎͉̯ ̴0͏̱̟̖̞̫͚1̷̗̱̗̭͙͎1̻̠̬̹̤̜͚͜1̣͟0̢̱̞̮̰̜̹0͟1͏͖̬̖̥̝̠͈1 ̞̩̪͎̪̹0̷̻͚0̙̬͔͙̥͎͈1̮̥̮͉̱0̶̘̯͉0͚̝̠͖͓̫̙͟00͕0̨͔ ̬̮̭0̮͙͡ͅ1̩͕̣ͅ1̨̰0͓͓̕1̡͍͓̹00̦̖̰͍ͅ0̟̣̥̖ ͔0̪̜͖̙͔̥1̺͟1̼̟͎͉̫͔ͅ0̳͍͓͔̣0҉̯1̶0̝̹͕͡1̸͉͔̦̥ ̖01͏̺͎͕͕1̗͞1͚̰̪̘͕͕̲0̥̫̳͞0҉̼̖̺͙̹1͇̮̺̥̝͙̙0̳̤̥̟͘ ̺̞͞00̨̖̝̖1̠͍̙ͅ0̲͍0̤̦̘͙͔̖̺0͈͔͕̘͎͡0̭0͇͉̮͉̼̫͈ ͚͟0̶̼̙͙1̥̙1͙̻0͙̦̳0̠̝̬͈̟̣̮1̗̦̥̲̺̜ͅ1̴̜̺̖͔̼̳ͅ0̦̯̮͟ ͉͓0̧̦̳̝1̼̲̰͞1̱̟̝0̮͇͇̗̩͕̼0͍̱͓0̥̫0̟̫̝͇͖ͅ1͉̦͖̳̞͓͔ ̶̳̪͖̳͎̞0̵̬1̬̖̱̗̥̲ͅ1̳͘10͢1̨͎0̧1̻̳̟̖̲͇ ̦̦̣̪̘͙̙01͓̗̙̠1̨̠0̟1̻͇͟1҉0̛̭̪̭͈̼̭0̱͖̙̪̺͢ͅ 0̵͙̙͔̤̜̙1̬̪1̸̣1̩̝0͎͚̺̖1̝0̢̩̤̘̫̭̞̩0͈̯̩͚͝ ͕̠̗̟͍̞00̥̣͍̞͈͍̣1͖̱0̴̳͓͔̼0̠̩̗̤̣̞̱0̮͈͇̺̬͔͔0̝͈̲̰̬͜0̨̭ ͖̫̟̟̠0͔̗̲͓̼̗̕1͜1̛̣̙01̷̥̪̳͎͚ͅ0̙̲̥0̧̫̯ͅ1̬͈͕͍̖ ̴̙0̘1̩͟1̴̳͚̟̰͖̼1͚̣̘0̛̹1̛0̰̘̟͈̼̱̞0̡̩̥̼̦ ̸͉͔͎͓̭̭͇0̭̜͕͈̯̣͙͢01͍0̧̹0̵͈̭̮͚̞0̵̲̩͔̺0͇̝͕͔͔0͓͇̖̪ ̲͉͙̙̝̯͚01͏̗̠̳ͅ1̺̭͢1͎̣̮͚̼̭ͅ0̹̞͉͡ͅ1̱͕̖͝1͠1̙͕̗͎͖̣͙ ̪̯̲͕͕0̯̘̖̱̙̫͖1̙͍̣̪̘̳͖1̜͍̩̣͓̳0̤̳͉̙̕0̥̲̥̩̥͙̩0͓̣͙0͓̲̼͈1͈̬̯̻͞ ̬̼0̞̝̩̬̟̭11̷1̸̣̖͖̥͇͖͚0͓̣͉̳01̖1͉ 0̴̤͕͕0̨̝̥1̸0̥͚̰0͎͇̟͕͕̲0̦̹͟0͎͍̝̹̙͢0͉̝̮̕ ̤0̥̼̲͟ͅ1̶̩1̞͚̼͡0̠͟1̱̣̝̼͓̖̤͠0̧0̮͍̙͉̬̩0͖̼ ̡0͚̯͉̞̪1̩̞̼͇͜1̢͚͕̳̣̲͙̜0̡͕͓̝0̹̟̻̣̖͜1̼̝̩̱̞0̮͇̭͙1̕ ̢̻͓͔0̶̝̜̝̬̟̻̹1̭̩͍͉͈1̜̼͇̫̼̖̘1̠̹̤̺ͅ0͚̳͔̲̣͚̗0̹̭̱̳1̛͔̝̲̹̜̣0̷̬̭̟͍̲̰ ͔0̱̩̦̝͔̩͘0͈̖̣ͅ1͔̲̱̺0̥͈̘̖̘0̻͙̹̞̬0̡0̩̟͢0͚͈̯ 0̰͙̫1̲1̕0҉̬̟̥̟0̳1̥̪͙̠̹͖1̩͍͍̤0͡ ̧̮̜0͇1̣̤̬͇̥̱͕1̱0̳̖̲0̤͇̻̫̰͇̖0̩̯̘͢01̞̱͕̙̞ ͈̠̺̼͉0̡͓̩̥̼̯͖11̛ͅ1̣̱̬̮̳͚͓͠0̵͉̭̩̭̘̞̬1̫̺͕̠̭0̴͓̻̼̦͇1̟̝͖͘ ̲̝̫0̬̜̼̻11͚0͍͍̩͇̼̪̝1͏͔̟ͅ1̜͖̯̤0̻̤̱̜0̗̰ ̠͉0̴̻̠̥̤11͉͈̜͢1̶̦͙̜0̳̦̺̠̕1̠̬0̞̯̙0͡ ͕͓̗̱0̶̱̮͖̣̩̟0͉̝͚̟̞͚1͓̻̦0̲̼̘͕͟0͔̫0̭0̗̼͡0͈̼͞ ̻̲0̫̟͞1͕̺͕̭̝̣ͅ1̫̱͔͘0̰̲̣͝1̬̘0͓̠̝͓͈0̠͓͈1̴͕̤ ̙̼̝͇̣0͉̙̗̳1͎̱̘͎̣͍̘1̞̣1̞0̸͕̮̘̝͇̯1̩̦̩̘̗̥ͅ0͕̝̩̖0̵ ̞̙̭̤͖̠0̥͎̻̜͓͢0̪͇͈͡10̥0̝̥0͔0͞0̲̫̗̙̝ 0̹11͕̖̭͙ͅ1̧0̴͍̲ͅ1͏͍̬̩͖1̹͕̼̱̼̯̜1҉̟̖̪̗̜ ̗0̧̱1̦͓1̘00͔̯̩͖̪̞̬0̞̟̙̤̙͕ͅ0̡̬̭1̺͎͙̪͟ ̙͉͓̫̙̦͘ͅ0̡̹͙̱̲̳̥͕11̴̤̘͇͉͓͕1̪0̙0̨̜̘̞̥1͖͢1҉̙̗̘ ͠ͅ0̱͡0̻̙͠1̹̳͉͠0̱͚ͅ0҉̜̻͖͖͍̰͈0̯͔͓̱͘0̗̯͈̼̝0̖͘ ͎̼̺̣0̥͕̩͓ͅ1̬̲̙͜1͔̹͓͚̜̱͘0̻͍̳̬̕1̖̫̖͖̞͈̭0͎̩͔̯̥̦͠ͅ0̻0̥̥ ̥̹͡0̥̘̹͙͓͍͙͜1͇̦10͖̳͔͖0̮̼͚̘̼̮̙̕1̯̪̜̬̭̪0̲͇̹̘̘ͅ1͏̮ͅ ̲̠̘̰̟͝0̖͔͖1͝1̥͈̘͢ͅ1͉̣͚̩͔00̵̻̲1͉̹̼̹̮0̺̳̙̞̰̮ ͚̩̳̭0̫̤͉͍̣͕ͅ0͏̭1̮̙̪̞ͅ0̝̙͈͖ͅ0͉̘̤0̩͙̝̱͖0̩̩͔̜͈0͎ ̡̬̟̱̗̺̫ͅ0͔̤1͉̰1͍͚͖̞0̰̞̯͕̰͔͕͠0̳̳͓͔1͕̟̰̻̟͇̟̕1͈̤͙͕̘̻̰0 ͜0̘̦͕̠̳̥͜1͉͔1̗̱̮͔̳̮0̥̭̣̜͖͕0̹̖̩̹0̱0̪͕̣̘̮̮̠1 ̵01̞̬͈̞̙͟1̹͎̭̦͕̬1͇̖̲͔̻0̦̫̗͔͚1̷͖̹0̤1͇̻̼̪ͅ ̢̜͙͙͚̗͈̤0̖͎̯͜1͙̠̮1͖͖̥̲0͙̘1̬̼͝1̷͉̺̥̳͚0͈̯0̼̝ ̛̪̜0͖͇͔̼̤͙1͖1̪1̞01̢̭̠̣̼0̘͎͖͖͈̰͡0̸ ̯͕̖̩͈̳0͙̻͓͝0̴1̷̪̝0̦͟0͇̙̟0̜̯0҉̤̲͍̣0̞̞̤̫̝ ̳͓̭̥0̟̲̦̼͉̹͎1̵̱̣̟̮̬1͔̹0̠͇̮̥͈͟1͖̪͙̠̲̹̫0҉͇̩̭̹01̡͔̺̥̣ ̴̥̥̪̜͎̪0͇̞1̡̟̲͖̘̱1̻̜̯̥͘1͎̭̩̳͓͎͜ͅ0͖̞̺͍̫͕1̵͍̮̙0̟̰0̭͚͎̦̭̙͢ ̷0̫͎̣̮0̮̪͖͎͘1̘̤00̪͉̮0̮͖̱̭̲͍͚0̮̣̮̬͉̝̺͜0̫̗̲ 0͇̞̞͉1̭̘̺̙͢1̣̥͜10̨̜͙̹̜͙̥͓1̷͙̮1͞1̜̯͍ ̜͓̟̯͎̟0̺̻̲̗̲̺̯1͉̭̣̮1̵̮̼̜͕̬͖0̦̝̪0̠͍͇̦̭͍0͉̟͚̬͎0̧̱̙1 ̝̭͈0̵̹̙1̹̮̠1̮̜͉̹̬̼1̠̝͓͙0҉͚̫̫͍̮̹0̪̣͚ͅ1̨1̡̥̼̙̹ ͕ͅ0̹̮͓̗̯01͔0͈̭͈̥̬͝0͖̞͙̥̪̮͢0̪̩̮͇͍͢0̡̺̯̟0̷̹̲ 0͈̞͈̪1̡̞͔̬̲̺1̷̦͍̱̣̗0҉̲̝̫̝1͖̲͇͓͇̦0̺̗͉0҉͇̹0̝͉̗̹̪̫ ̴͇͙0̪͚̗͍̱̙̲1͇ͅ1͉͔̰̥̝̻0͍̩0̗̮1̙̺ͅ0͏͕1͔̺ 0͔1̶̳̠̠̱̼1̝̤͚͍͕̙ͅ1̱0̬̼͓̰̲͙͎0͈̱̻̜̼̠̼1͙̺̯͞0̩̣͈͍ 0͓̯̩0͍̳͔̱͙1̛̹͕ͅ0̴̬̝̹͙0̝̪̟̦̤ͅ0̛̹̼0̻͙͚̘͔̗̩͝0͈̭̝͖̙͈ ̘̳̱͖̠̯0̭̩1͔ͅ1̳̙0̰̝̩̹̘̹̱0̠1̢͎̖͕̮̦̹̝1͓͕͚̳͇̠͕͡0̺̞͇ ̰͇̥͔̱̳0̥̘͇͚͙1̦̲͕1̤͖͉̳̻̩͍0̯̘̩̪͍͜0̸̥̗̜̫̟̣̮0̡͓͇̯̮0̨̳̳̪̠̼͈1̛ ̲̥̯0̨̣̗̙̯͈1̸̥̩̗͈̮1͉̬̠͓1̼͇0̯̤1҉̪̫̘̯0̡1̵̝͚̣̯͔ͅ 0̥̭̬͢1͍͎̻͖̜̤̝1͔̤̮͇̖̪0̭͇͓̱̮̕1͢1͕̣͖0̲0̜̠̖̜̱̣ ͏̩͙̻̤̪̫̤0͕̮̬̭̦̳͡1̨̦̬͓̺1͏̫̜͉̭̥̼1̖̜01͙̬͓͚̼̩̙00̨̝̼̖̰̖ ̱̼̝0̰͍͙̮0͏̺̦̲͔1҉̹̜͕̞͓̭͖0̫͝0͙͠0͙̻̜0̤̝͈0 ̧͎̮͖01̝̫̬̼͔1̶̳͈̳̠ͅ1̤̣ͅ0͈̳̹̦0͉̣̱̞͚̯̯1͔̺1̸̼̜͙̻̣ ̨͈̯̙̬0̙͔1̯̲̻̖͎1͚̭̰̮͖0̢̳̦͍̺̯͚ͅ1̮̯̙͕̦̭0̡͕͔̠0̴̝͓̩̠0͎̼͉̲̯ͅͅ ̢ͅ0̟͉̟̞̺1̝͚̩1̭0͕̣̪͍̠0͕̝̖̜͢1̻̣̣̗͠0͖1̹̣̙̪͟ ̠̝̰͟0͏̰̠̙̙̫0̨͇̜̘̼̳̜̬1͚̼͙̭͕̹͔00̢̥͚0͇̯͙0̜̙͈͖̥͞0͓̪̻͜ ̰0̭̰̤̞̫1̠̩̕1͎̖̯͟1̖̱͍͇0̛̤1̢͎͙̺̰͔̲͙1̸͕1͇͍̮̳͚̝ ͓͙͕̙̟a̭̝̞̟̰ 0̷̣̰̪1̩̜͕̥̰̻̘1̠̲̝̯̣͚̮0̙͔̞̞͔̠̙1̷̠1̙̯̼1͎̲͝0̹̣̙ ̜͠ͅ0̣̻͖̼̖͠1͖̼͚̘1̩̬͙̠̗͞ͅ10̸̘͓1̯0̴̮͙̥̙0̗͇̤ ̛͖̥̥̻͓͎0̞̘͚̠1̴̖̬̳̼1̴̤̝̰̤̦00̝̻̠̤̭1̺̲͖͙̻͔̞0̢1͔͙̬̺̥̫ͅ ҉0̛̩1͉̮̩̼1͕̝̬̱0̧̭͕ͅ0̙̗̰̣̭̟1͎͖̲̤͞0̙̩̹̤͇0̫̙͚͎̪ ͔̙̦͎0͍̻0̖̺͈͙͠1̝̺̜̦̮̹̝0̫0̬͉͓̱̪̲0̢͙̜̖͕̫̪̩0͇͔̲̼̝0͈̮̥̩̦̺ ҉̹0̻̤̯̹ͅ1̬1̦̜̮̤̪0̴̬̗͚͓̰00̞̮̱̼̱0̜̪̞̖͙̣̥1̠̣ͅ ̟̳̣̙̲̼͍00̤̝̙1͇͇̙̙̫0̷̹̜͕̦0̵̖0̯0̸͇0̴̘̯̲̥͕͚ ̺̖͍̲̯̰̻͜0̗͕̱̼̙1̭̯1̕1͖͚̝̖̣͖̱0̛̩0͙̗̻͎̫̟ͅ1̹1̵͔ ͖̥͟0͇͢1̩͡1̺̞̟̤0̳̱̙̦̩0̗̕1̬̪̺̥̗͕͉0͟1 ҉̰̮̞0̭̻1̧̟͔̖͓̭1̼͢0̡͉͎̬00̟̼͈̺͘1̙̯̣̻̯̟̖͝1̫͎̺ ̝͟0̪̬1̬͖̩͙̩͍̰͡10͏̫̦̘̱1͉̦͔1̘̲̤̖̦̟1̫1̸̭̳̦͎͓ͅ ̖͓̪͉̩̲0̠̭͕͔̣1̺̟͙͓̤1̖̭̫0̺̬1̳̪͈ͅ1̤̲͇͙͚1̪0̱̫͚̪̗͖̪ ̩̼͙͓̰̳͉͜0̘͈͔̬̝̩̱1̵̪̥̥͇̫̺1̙0͎͍͙̻0͚͈̲̯͙̬͝1̬͕͝0͖̺͖̘0̖̲̪͡ ̵̮̦0͙̻̰̗̳͓̕0̠͎̠̮͜1̸̘0̡̖̤̜͇̪0͇̝ͅ00̙̥0҉̟̟̙͎͇͈͇ c h̻̼̺̤ͅ 0̨̝̟1̜̩̥͙1̺̪͙̫͡00̫̯̕0̥01̨̮̜ ̷͚͕̖0̬͖͖1̩̤͉͍͍̲̰͜1̛̤0̸͇̼̩1͙͔͕̭̼͢1̖̘1̣͚͝0͕̠̪͓͇̠̕ ̧̦͎0̢͔̫1̙1̮̘̙0̫̯͙0̻̣͕͜0̸̰̯̠̠1̯̻̤̬̙͡1̢ ̙͉̬̲ͅ0̪̜͕̗̹̝1̨̩̠͖̤̹͚̩1͚̗̼ͅ0̞01͏̥̼0͞1͔̦ 0̵̤̦̯̪0̗͟1̼̲͖̙0̣͎̯0̮̹̦̥̣͡0͏͓̙̗̹̻̣0̡0̴͈͇̙ ̙̻0̴̪1̫̜̤͕̳̹ͅ1̯̹̳̞̹͖͚͘1̟̙ͅ0̗͚͖͡ͅͅ0͠1͜1͔͇ ̱̻h̗͢ͅ ̦͍ͅ0͏̙1̡̭̖̜͙1̛̫̗͓̠0͚̭͚͈0͙̞1҉0̵̲̞̬1 ̱̟̲͍͇0̲̤̜̬0̢̩1̠̹̲͘0̴̞̦͉0̴̝̤̭̯̮̲0̲̯0̤͇̺̘͢0̭̦ ̴̜̙̱̻̦͇͚0͈1̸͖̰̝1̦̖̟1͕̥̺0͉̮̪1̶1̩̪̲͇̜̞͕1̷̠̝ ͠0̨͇1͎̫̬̠ͅ10̻̦̮̜̗̲0̶̰͙̹0̹͎͈̕0̘̥͔̭̭̖1͚͚̩̥̭̬ ̙̘͎͇̮̪͠0̯͔͉̘͎1̵̬1̼̜̰̣̳0͍̳̭̲ͅ1̩̲̙̥̳1̢1̳̼̳̪0̦̝͢ ̰͡0͙̩̝̥̻͍͕1̻͖̕1̭̪̦1̤͇͍̳̮̩͚0͔͎͓͉̝͜1͈̱̻̹̟͜0͕̳͍̝̬0͓͖͈͝ ̫̠̳̲̟̳̞0̯̲1̪1͖̣̳̹͟ͅ0̱̰̦̖̣0̠̰̦̰1҉0̞͈̯͖1̷̻ ͉̞̼̞̫0̫̹̝̳̤͈̙͘1͈̣̙̩̘̙ͅ1̰0̩̜̯̪̗0͕̰̗1͓̞̞0̹0̼ ͉0̗͎̮ͅͅ0̹͚1̗̺͈̳̲͓͈0͚̝͍0̯̳̭͎͞0̭̥͉̤̣00̧̼̜̤̗ͅ ̧0͕̯͕̯̕1͚1̥̯0̗̬̠0ͅ0̧̖̥͖̝̝ͅ0̨̲̖̬̦1҉͔̥͔̰͈͔̳ ͎͔0̷01̱̫̤̖͇̳0̺͚̻̜̝͉̗0̬̟̮̳̯̘0̧̺0̦͕͔0͍̰͞ ̪̞0͙͕̠1̢1̮1͎̹̪̠͈0̠͘0̰̲̲͔̰͢1̴̖̼̣̳1̘̱̗̥̞̳ ̡̫̱0̼1͍̝̺̭̺̻̙͢1͇͉͔̦0̻͚0͓1̠͕̦̳0̹͚1͍̱͙̬̪͚͡ ̕0̵̖̬̼͕̪1̶̥̩̗͚̼̰10̩̱̮0͓0̮͇̮1͕̺1͍͎̥̠̖̕ ͇01̧̙͔̤1̞̟͚̦͠0̫͚̬̳1̵̙̘̲̭̪̲ͅ1̹̺̙̘̭͇1҉̙̝1̝̜͔̙̜̩ ͇̟̹̬01̹͚̰̦1̪̻0͏̰̱̲͉̦̖1̣̰̜̩̳͈1̸̻̹̟͚̣͉1̨̗̣0̰̖ ̛0̕1̙̖̣1̪̖̩̜̱̪̥0̷̦̹͖0̤͈͓̺1̲͕̝̬̣͈̹0̗̖̬̪͞0̹͇͖ͅ ̧͉̭̗0̺̮0̭̜̦̗͔̭ͅ1҉̹̬͖͓͕͉͈0̤̰͕0̙̪̻̗̟̤00̱̖0͔ ͙̹͕̯̯̝̰0̱̹̹̭ͅ1̵̮1͙̬̹0͎̭0͖̠̖̲0̖͈̬̲͍̹1̡͙͓1̞̬̙̤̱̖ ͚͚͔̟̖̻̭0̥̱͍1̦̟̝̖̦͟ͅ10̙̱̜͇͓1̠̪͔̙0̜̥0̧̼͕̯̮̩͖̺0̝̹̰̦͘ ̪͉̪̥̰̳0̗͙̳͙̞͓̻̕1͏̙̬͖̝͇1̲͘0͍̘͓̮̤͚ͅ0̙0̬̙̣0҉̺̱̞1̭ ̷͔͈̹̳͓͈01̴̘̩̩̺̬̗͍1̭̖͔̝̫͍̜01̱̙̘̼͖̝1̲͍͇̱̕1͔̼0 ̧͔̖̰̼0̩͇̲͈̺͢1̘1͉̜͞0̨͖̰̤̱0͏ͅ0̡1̳̯̝̥1͎̜ ͞0͕͙̭͓͡1̲̮1̶̝̩͉̯0̨̰͙̻̥̺͙̰0̢̯1̪0̹̣̼͞1̢͔ ̨̗̜̭̩0̝̜͚̙̤̲0̙10̗̝̤̬̹̻̦0̗̮͕̲̙̯͔0̖̦0̮̦̣̱͕͟0͓̬̺ ͍01̜̩̗11̰͚͞0̰̮0͔̥̻͢11͍̯̹͘ ͝0͙̝1̱͙̻1̮͇0̜̩̕1̱͡00̥̹̹̱̦ͅ0̹͔̙̘͙̰ ͘e̬̦͔ ҉̺͇0͕̭ͅ0̭̠̭̠͓1̡̫͙0̼̦̻̱0̲̹͖͉̻̦0̹̥̫͞0̲͇̤̘̣ͅ0͙͘ ͕̺̫͍̝̱0̻̬͢1̗̰̲̳1͔̖̳̼̥1̞̱̼0͇̞̥͘1͈͚1̮͍͖̬͚̹1̨̩̤͍͕͔͍͍ ̠̯̫͘0͖̟̤̼̥1̯1̱͉͎̞̻0̯̦͉̩͚̩ͅ0̱̪̖0͝0̱̲͓1̵͓͖̠̭͚͔̯ ̝̝̞̺͈0̯̦̼1͈̥̲̗1͕̲̥͘ͅ0̛̺͇̥1̹̦̝̭̩̻̺1̪̱1͈͓̤0̪̯̝ ̭̰0̜̟̤̗̻͍̲1̡1̯̮͜1̧͇̗0̹̮͞1͍̩̦̭0̷̤̤̝̖͓0̗̻̬̳͍̗͞ ̨͖̞̰͓͎0̮͔̤̦͕̝̙1̟1̴̻͍̹̙0̘01̦̣͜01̶̺̼̩̯̝ ͖͠0͜1̢̺̲1̻͈̝̖͖̻̤0̴̮̭0̗1̟ͅ0̧͓͓̝͇̺̘͚0͓̗̦̗̗ ͘0̩̙͙0̢̦͖̝̲͉͖1̰̭̪̬̯̟͞ͅ0̛̲͈͈̳̩00̗͍̝̤͇̲0͉͔̮͉0̳̳͓̬̞̪̼ ͚͓͠0̜͕1̹͈̻͈1̵͇̯0̜0̶0̡̠̖̼͇͈0̩̘̱͔͚̜̯1̲͔̞͙͈̦ ̧̟͓̟̤̲0̣̞̱̺0̨͉͓͔̯͔1̤͔̖̟̺0̳̻͙̭̦ͅ0̫̗͈̫̩̤̹0̰0̷0͙̦̘̰̖͠ ̵̤̭̲̯0͏͇͈̻͈̘͖1̯̺̬͖̣1̻̦͕̲̰1͡0̻̬̞0̨͓̻͕̗̠͓ͅ1̶͓̦̮̠̥̣̭1̡̳̱̦̣ ͇̦͝0͈̟͈͖̪1̹̯̝͈1̧͚̥̯0̣͙0̸̭̞10̞1͕̰͈͢ ͢0̮̭̠̥͖͇1̞1̭̪͖͕̫͝0̶̥̜̟̼0̹̙̪̱̰0̞͝1̛̗̥1 ̯̘̟̦͎͖0̢̪110̤͙̭͙1̨̼̪1͕̠͚͜1̰̮͖1̞̝̹̺̜̱ ͏0̴̹1͍͙1̹̼̩͍0̘͝ͅ1͙͠1͎̼̞͖͈̝1͓͙͈0 ̪̞̙̲0̡̖̥1̡̲͇͉̭̪1҉̣̘̤͙̞0̘̲͈̩̫̺͞0̷̘̝̞̥̪͖1͙0͖0̰ ̘͍̠̝0̴͇͓̦0̤̞1̪͎0̠̙0̲͖̼̣͖00҉̞̙͓̖̘ͅ0̸̪͍̦̟̤̮ ̤̝̕0̰̗͉͕1͈̪1̲͍͖̬͈͉̮0̖͓0͏͖̯͖̠̙̲0͎͓͕ͅ1̧1 ̡̪0͎̥1͏̮̖̬1̡̝0̦̻͔̖̬̮̤1̪̤͚͔̦͎0̣̣͈̼̰͞0̡̺̮͖͔͖͇0̫̻̻ ͉0̸̙̺͙̜1̟̮̼̲̖͢1̙͈͉̟0̭̯̦̝̺̫0̠̼͘00̹̦̯͡1 ̺͉͚͕̗͔0͈̲1͞1̞̻̖̣̰̮̞0͙̮̤1̛̺̻̖1̭̥̼͝10 ̡̼̟01҉̥̦͈̙͎1͎̤̩0͎͕͍̞͍͓̮0̞̰̖̬͡0̳͉̼1͔̹1͕͔ ̢̞̭͖̬̞͓̹0̵̝̪͓̦̞̱͚1̯1̶͚̘̫̭̘̠0̢̳̯͍0̴̠1̤͔̳͚0͔͇͙̞͈͕1̞̥̖͍̘̪͜ ̧̹ͅ0̸̹̰̫͕̝0̲1̫̘̼̜̩̰̩00̺0̖͡0̞̟̹̱̥0͕̼ ̝̩̤̱̣̦̖0͏͈͖̬͎1̜̗͙1̭̱͟0̺̼0̵̗̻̹0̴̗̭͖ͅ0̩̻̮̰̘̰̭1̩̻̲ ̗̹̤̖̭̪0̥̖̤0͉̺͉̰̺̫1̡0҉̭̥̖̪͉͇0̜͈̗̗00͖͚0̝ ̠0̧̼̳1̰͞1̷͙̺̫̞̗̙100̴̭͇̳̦̱͉̲1̩̺̗1̥̳̳̼ ͔0̦1̢̼͓̘̻ͅ1̟̲0̢̩̣͓̹͚̦̬010͠1̤̺̺͡ ̸̣̮̳̣̩̙c̲͝ ̠̤̳̟̘̺o͖̺̩ ͍̮̞͝ņ ̩0̥̥͈̝̕1͍̹1͕͙̦̹0̢͓̯̹̦̰͕0̶̙͍̼̝1͖̯̲̦0̵̗͉͖̣̱0̮͇̼͎̥͙ ̸̣0̢̦0̧͈1͖0͍̻̟̤0̤͖͔͈̕00͖0̬̤̺̤͟ ̧͙̰̦0̜̲̺͢ͅ1͔͓̫͍1͠0̱̲͎̳̪̜̰0̖̞͖̗̱͉̟0̘̦̱͢ͅ1̼͇̮̱̞̺1̸͍ ̸̳͈͇̩̼0̖̞͈͇͕̜̗1͚̦1̼͔̦̪̟͡0̸͓̤̺͙10͉͘ͅ0͔͕̰͞0͇̟ 0̞͔̼͙̣͢ͅ1̹͎̗̤̳̕ͅ10̼̱ͅ0̦̕0̧͕̣̳̬̰͔0͔̥̼̲̕1̵̲̦̪̙̙̲ ̸̞̹͙̳̺̺̝0̱̣̖͠1̬͎͇̣̻̮͓1̥̰͙͔͚̻0̵̪̞̖͖̞̙͓11̬͉̠̻̯̠͟1̘̠̟0 ̵͓̖̺̘0͙̼̖̝̮͍͘1͏̺1̮̮̬̩̣̩0҉̰͚̞̝͎̯̥0̗͈̥͖͓̦0̴̞11̪͈̳̝͈ ̮̞̺̰0͏̱̮͉̝̬1̳͈͙̼͓1̧0͞0̛1̱̠̱̬̟͖͇͜0̫̜̹͚̻̰ͅ1̖̭̤̻͍̥͢ ̨͇̯̫̝͉̯̜i̸̼t̸̲̝̙̝͉͕ ̪̕w̪̙̥̼a̡̱̦s̷ ̨̤͚͇̗̤̞h̳̱͓̺͈̻e̼͚̗̖̠͟r̢̼̫͖̮̹̲̲ 0̨̖̟ͅ1̗̞̼͚̯͓̩1̮̳̰̥̕0̼͕̜͕̗0̵͇̙͙̤0̢̰̺̠ͅ1̙͞1̷̲̻̱͍̱ ̳͟a̦̟̞̻̻u͟l̝t͙ ̴̪̩̝̜̠͇s̺̘͕̦̠̫̱h̴͍̻e͕ ̜̖͍͖͕w͏̻̟̰̦an̬̭̜̩̖̹̗͠t̟͔̬͔̖̝e͎͎͓d͞ͅ ̡̩͈̯t͙̫̲̰̦͍̱o̻͓͞ ̢s͢a̸͖v̰͔̟̥ę̠ ͍͟t͇͕̥h̰̺̫e̴͓̝͍̣̜͓m͎̻̱ s̫̜̲̤͓̙h͕͍̱̺̼͇̗͜e̷̻̙̮ ͏̖w̮͈̬̯̗̦a͖̭̱̭n̩͡t͓̹̭͕̯̠͖͢e͍̩̗̟̭̤̱d̖̩͖̪ ̣̲̖̭t͙͖͈̠̤o̢͍̹ ̴͔̮͔s͖͝h͈͚e҉̣̪̥̲̭͉ ̖̻̠w̨a̳̗͙̠̜͉͘nt͙̞̻͚̤̻̮e҉̟̣̻ͅd ͚̪0̭͡1̗͍͕̤1̖͈̹͍̩̥1̯͖0͏̻͔͈̖͕1̙̬̖̩͙͍̬0̕0̝̥̞̠̩͝ ̵̮̬0̡̦̩͇͉͈1̣͞1̠͉̦̜͍͇̺0̨͚͔̯͓1҉1̮̱̝̦̤͞1̬͈͉͍1̷ ̶̜̖̦̩s͚̞̰̯̱͔e̪̩c̳̺͟o͈͍̻n̺̜̗d͔͓̮͙̞ ̲͕͎̟̪̕c̟̱̬̥̘̹ͅh͕͙̕ͅa̵͍̘̟n̕ç̹e̛̙̯̣ ̠͚̰̝̜͍ͅșe͏͖͍̜co̯̟n͖̱̟̹̥͕͓d͚͓̦͚͙̘̬ ̴̹̥͚͈̖ch͉̳̜̪̲͍͖a̵n̦̤͎ͅͅc͕͈̭̟̬e̜͓͓̭̝ ̸̬̼̮ͅs̢̹̥e͕͕̹͙̩̮̳c̤͇͍o̴͉̝n̙d̲̳̗̭͕̹͘ ̩c̥͕h҉͚͙̘̦ạ̡͙̙̣̤̟̗n̴̖͕̪͉̗c͉̹̯e ̥̩̤̞͙̺şe̫̞c͝o̤͚͓ṇ͈̤͘d̶ ̶͉͇0̴1҉1̵00͞0͝1҉1 ̨0̶1͠10̨10͏00̛ 01̕1͢00͏00̨1̛ 01̴1҉0̨1͞1̕10 011͟00011 0͏110͡0̕1̛01 s͡he͢ t̸r͝ie̕d s҉he d̢idn͜'t d̢o ̵e͜n̕o͜u͠gh͢ it̴ was h͞e̶r faul̸t it w͟as͟ ̶h̕e̛r͢ f̶au̸lt ͟i͢t was͠ he͜r҉ f̕a҉ul͟t s̕he͜ ̡ţried̷ ͝she w͏anted͜ t͡o ͡sa̡v̵e̡ tḩe̸m ̧she҉ wa̛nted s̡h͡e̷ wante̡d̵ ͟s͢he͟ ̸w̸anţed͜ she wants to save them. she wants to save them she is getting a second chance she has a second chance she has a second chance

chiaki nanami is an ai. she steps out into the artificial sunlight, and feels it warm on her face. she knows she'll do whatever she can to save her classmates from despair. maybe her human self couldn't, but she will. she can see hinata in the distance. she will save him this time. she will save them all. she is better. she is better. _she is she is she is she_ -

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact : the binary says “she couldn't save them she couldn't save them she couldn't save them it was her fault it was her fault it was her fault it was her fault it was her fault she wanted a second chance she wanted a second chance she wanted a second chance a second chance second chance”


End file.
